


From womb to tomb (I loved you first)

by huffspuffsblows



Category: Terra Formars
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffspuffsblows/pseuds/huffspuffsblows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex and Marcos on a sunny afternoon when they're supposed to be getting shit done. All work and no play and these boys is usually a disaster...</p>
            </blockquote>





	From womb to tomb (I loved you first)

**Author's Note:**

> Probably Post!Annex1, best case scenarios

  
Fuck the very notion of spring cleaning. Its too much of an American thing (no offense to their American friends, either), not to mention the cool breeze that swept the cobwebs from the outside porch was too nice to pass up, too nice to spend bent between the screen doors piling things up like the walls of their kingdom and throwing a broom around.

Though it's a perfect vantage point to throw a pillow and one of Alex's old coats down between the doorway and the hall because _they just couldn't wait_ , couldn't even get to the bed before hot fingers pluck at layers and they're tumbling, tumbling, tumbling down into the deep.

Alex fucks him slow because he knows it drives Marcos crazy, the pump of his hips as slow as the trajectory of sweat that follows the curve of a shoulder; shoves in so deep he can feel it rattle along each disc of his spine and trembling shift of his arms pillowed under his chin. Marcos licks a trail of sweat from his upper lip, eyes squeezed shut so he doesn't have just the wall and the patch of Alex's coat to look at, so he can perfectly picture the sway of dark locks, the fucked out look reflected in brown eyes as he's spread open with hands that _know how to handle balls_.

So Marcos can dig it. He _digs_ it like he digs heels into the floorboards that creak with every shift of movement, digs the grunts that follow every punch of air from the bottom of his own lungs.

That's when they first hear the jingle. It's far off, far enough for Marcos to think maybe he's been fucked so deep its messing with his hearing. [They never said anything about bug jizz and what it can do to you, that was never a question.]

But sure enough, with some kinda...weird fucking bird hearing thing, Alex lifts his chin from the curve of Marcos' spine, eyes alight with more clarity than moments ago.

"I think....think I hear the ice cream truck."

To them, its a miracle. Ice cream floating down paved streets, actual ice cream and not ploys for gangs or deliveries. _It's ice cream_. This is like a dream, which is why it takes a moment for Marcos' ears to pick up on the words, for sound to get through the muffled receptors. He twists a look over one shoulder, braces himself up on sweaty palms--

" _Haaaah_? You just had some yesterday, shithead. If you ain't careful even your squidheaded ass won't fit through the doorway." He doesn't question the comment, either, because, well. It's them. No shit. Just leans into elbows to get the fullest movement, pushes back until he hears Alex groan raw in his throat, until sparks of fire race down into his belly and his cock _aches_.

Alex takes the bait, quickens his pace for awhile, long enough for Marcos to lose himself in the sensation, in the slurred English the other breathes into the knot of his spine, and he's just slipped a hand around his cock when Alex's rhythm slows, staccatos like it's confused.

[wouldn't be the first time his dick was confused but--]

"Are you gonna come?"

"No, you ain't that tight...'m just....thinkin'..." Alex trails off, dazedly and very much not like he's going to come.

Marcos feels a scowl quickly replace the goofy grin of bliss, twists onto his side to glower. "God _dammit_ Alex-- now _I'm_ gettin' hungry..."

The pump of hips stops altogether. Images of cold vanilla topped with sprinkles and M&Ms and all sorts of cavity enduring shit flash through his mind, followed by a ripple of want in his belly, much different than the heat of moments ago.

The melody sings through the air, at least four houses down and gaining.

Neither teen is fazed by the squelch of come and lube when Alex pulls out, slick fingers rooting around the floor for a pair of pants he pulls on in a lazy fashion.

Marcos watches with hooded eyes. "Think they got the funky Sonic ones? Where the eyes are like, half melted and there ain't jokes on the stick?"

As if his prayers are answered, Alex finds his wallet [Marcos suspects the twenty that's in there is Akari's but that's what friends are for] and his eyes are alight at the very thought of such a treat.

"Hell yeah! I'm gonna get me two."

Marcos sits up on his elbows, mouth slanted into a glower. "The fuck? What about me?!"

But his companion is already halfway out the door, sans shoes and a shirt, laughing into the sunlight.

"Gotta getcher ass up, come dumpster, and get some! I ain't your pony boy."

Marcos grinds his teeth for two point five seconds. Sits up on wobbly knees. Grabs his pants [ah, they're Alex's...of course], stuffs his legs inside and follows at Alex's heels like a bat out of hell.

[he hadn't been so thankful for open sunshine and the sound of his friend's cackle until now]


End file.
